At The Eyrie
by JaneMartin906
Summary: (Movie Universe) In which they recover from their encounters with goblins and orcs. Thorin feels the hobbit requires lessons in swordplay, and wants to know what is in his pocket. Bilbo allows only three guesses. Bagginshield fluff.
1. Chapter 1

They tended their wounds and laid out what was left of their gear on the eagle's peak; the warm summer day faded into a mild summer night before the questions began.

"So... How did you escape from the goblin kingdom unharmed?" Fili asked.

"It wasn't completely unharmed," Bilbo muttered, pulling his shirt back on and rubbing his bandaged shoulder ruefully. The goblin he encountered had bit him before dragging him off the wooden walkway, and the wound had festered; Dori had just finished draining the wound and wrapped it tight. The rest of his torso was spotted with bruises, all of them a marvelous shade of purple or blue.

"But you still slipped away, right from under their noses! How?" Kili persisted.

"I seem to recall you asking this before."

"Aye, but there was no time for an answer then, lad," Dwalin rumbled from his place on the other side of the fire.

Thorin spoke then, stepping forward. He moved stiffly; his duel with Azog had left him with a dislocated shoulder and two or more cracked ribs. "Indeed. Now we've all the time in the world. Tell us the tale of how you slipped past an entire kingdom of goblins!"

The other dwarves all began asking questions at once; how many goblins did he fight, how many had he killed in battle, what path did he take, and the like. Finally, like a tired parent trying to put his children to sleep, Bilbo sighed, "Yes, yes, all right, I'll tell you everything. Now, I do tend to ramble, so stop me if I get off the subject for too long." Then sat on a rock and began to tell the story.

As it turned out, he was a rather marvelous storyteller. The dwarves all shuddered at his description of the creature he called Gollum (he even imitated the creature's voice for their pleasure, albeit a bit poorly), wracked their brains trying to guess the answers to the riddles (Gandalf knew all the answers, but said nothing), and Bilbo could swear he saw Fili and Kili bite at their nails when he recounted Gollum's sudden madness and the horrifying chase through the dark (although they would deny it later). "But I hid behind a rock and he missed me in the dark," he began to finish, "and he led me out. So, in a way, he really did keep his word."

"But, what did you have in your pocket?" Bofur asked.

Bilbo froze for an instant, his hand unconsciously moving to his pocket. Yes, that ring he had found was still there, but he had meant to keep it a secret. Finally, he smiled. "You get three guesses."

The dwarves laughed, then decided to sleep for the night. They did not need to set a watch; they could see the figure of an eagle outlined in the dark.

Thorin could not sleep. No matter how hard he tried, he could not sleep. The pain from his wounds had died down to a dull ache, he was exhausted, he was warmly wrapped in his cloak, but his eyes just could not stay closed. His mind raced endlessly, and even though he kept telling himself that he would take care of things tomorrow, he still could not quiet his thoughts. They could not stay in one place for long, but they were all weary and bruised, and needed rest. Their provisions needed replenishing, much of their gear was lost in the goblin tunnels, and they were still being hunted by Azog and his orcs.

Not far away from him, someone stirred. Thorin opened his eyes to see the hobbit was twitching in his sleep. He studied the hobbit's face closely, noticing an unfamiliar serenity. Over the course of their association, Bilbo's face had slowly begun to change. When they first met the burglar, it was normally a very pinched face, either in irritation or with fear. Lately, however, he did not look nearly as irritated, and even smiles had become more frequent. Just that morning he had smiled quite a lot. Thorin did not know what to make of those smiles; on the one hand, it was nice that the hobbit was no longer brooding in silence, but on the other hand, he found those smiles disarming. Watching Bilbo sleep, he could see that he actually had a very comely face. Thorin had only just begun to realize it was odd he had studied the hobbit's face so extensively when that same face contorted in distress as he dreamed. The hobbit stirred again, moaned softly and turned; Thorin thought he murmured something. Suddenly Bilbo sat bolt upright with a small cry, breathing heavily. He rested his head on his knees for a moment, muttering something. Finally, the hobbit stood and tiptoed to the edge of their camp. His hand was in his pocket.

Thorin slowly stood and watched him, wincing slightly as his body ached. The hobbit sat on a rock, just on the outer edge of the firelight. As if this wasn't enough reason for concern, Thorin knew this was not the first night the burglar had nightmares wake him in the night. He slept lightly out of habit; he knew every move that his companions made in the night. He had known this, and if it had been anyone else in the company, he would have been more than willing to help, but because he saw this hobbit as an unwanted load he did nothing. Ashamed, he decided now was the time to make amends for this.

Thorin started to follow, but thought for a moment, the beginnings of an idea forming; he went back to his bedroll and grabbed Orchrist, then grabbed Bilbo's sword as well. Quietly as he could, he walked towards the hobbit, however no matter how quiet he thought he was Bilbo heard him coming and turned. For a moment his face showed the memorable mask of fear before dissolving into that foreign, cheerful, disarming smile. "Hallo," he said. His eyes widened in concern, "Did I wake you?"

"Couldn't sleep." Thorin handed Bilbo his sword; responding to his confused look, he said "You have been lucky so far, but I fear your luck will not hold forever. If you are to continue with us you should have some knowledge of how to use this beyond wildly swinging it back and forth."

Bilbo's brow furrowed in his characteristic worry. (When did I become so knowledgeable about his different facial expressions? Thorin wondered.) "Thorin, I don't think so. I don't need to remind you- but I will anyway- that you only barely escaped death."

"A death that was prevented by you. In thanks, I will teach you to defend yourself properly." Thorin drew his sword, motioning for Bilbo to do the same.

Exasperated, Bilbo drew his own sword, gripping it in both hands. "Fine, but only-" He was interrupted by Thorin swinging his sword. Hastily, he backed away, holding his blade up to block the blow. "Confound it, I wasn't ready!" he shouted.

"Your enemy will not wait for you to be ready," Thorin said simply, swinging again. With the next few blows, he watched how exactly the hobbit fought. Finally he stopped swinging. "Here, shake my hand," he said, holding his right hand out. Bilbo looked confused, but did as he was told. The dwarf tried to ignore that his friend's hand was very warm and soft; he tried not to wonder at when he decided to first regard the hobbit as a friend. "Feel this grip. Holding your blade should be like shaking the hand of a friend, neither too firm nor too gentle. If you grip too firmly," here he demonstrated by squeezing Bilbo's hand, "you will hurt him. If you grip too gently," here his hand went limp and slipped from the hobbit's, "you will lose him. Do you understand?"

The hobbit nodded, a light of understanding beginning to shine behind his eyes. He smiled broadly, "Well! That was very useful, thank you Thorin, now perhaps you should go back to bed and rest."

Thorin sheathed his sword, secretly thankful, as his shoulder had begun to throb again. However, he had absolutely no intention of going back to his bed, only to lie down and not sleep. "Something troubles you." It was not a question; Bilbo shifted uncomfortably. "Tell me what it is, my friend."

The hobbit sheathed his weapon and sat down on the stone floor, leaning against a rock. Sighing, he said "It's only these dreams I keep having. They're all... dark and terrible, full of..." He shuddered. His hand inexplicably made its way back to his pocket. "I think I was wrong."

Thorin sat next to him. "Wrong about what?"

"The worst is not behind us at all. We're right in the middle of it."

No matter how disarming, Thorin decided that he preferred to see Bilbo smile. Eagerly looking for a way to distract him, he nudged the hobbit's shoulder. "What have you got in your pocket?"

Bilbo chuckled, a grin brightening his face. "Three guesses," he sang mischievously, holding up three fingers.

Thorin stroked his beard as he thought. "Tell me first; is it the same object that you had in the creature's cave?"

"Yes, that hasn't changed."

"And it is not your hand, a knife, or string, correct?"

"No, none of those things."

"Was this object acquired on the road, or a keepsake from home?"

Bilbo eyed him suspiciously. "Something I may have acquired on the road. Are you going to guess, or not?"

"Patience now, burglar." He thought, and he thought, stroking his beard as he did so. What could he have acquired on the road that would be worth keeping? "A stone to sharpen your sword."

"No! Although now that you mention it, I should probably start keeping one." He pulled one finger down. "That's one."

Thorin thought harder this time, wondering what hobbits normally kept in their pockets. "Bofur's handkerchief," he guessed finally.

"Oh, heavens no. I gave that thing back to him a long time ago." Bilbo laughed again, pulling another finger down. "That's two."

Thorin glared at him. "You are enjoying this far too much."

"Why, whatever do you mean?" the hobbit grinned, batting his eyes.

Thorin chose to ignore that look, as it made him feel... He decided not to think about how it made him feel and focused on the question at hand: What could Bilbo Baggins possibly be keeping in his pocket? Taking a deep breath he guessed once more, "The key to your house."

Bilbo looked triumphant only for a moment. His mouth hung open and his eyes widened in shock.

"Aha! I've guessed it, then!" Thorin crowed.

Bilbo sighed and shook his head. "Oh, no, you're absolutely wrong. I only just remembered the key is sitting on my table, and I didn't even lock the door at all."

Thorin looked at the little hobbit incredulously, then laughed. He felt a light weight applied to his shoulders; looking up he saw that Bilbo had wrapped his arm around his shoulders, laughing as well. Thorin returned the embrace gratefully. It had been a very long time indeed since he shared a laugh with a friend.

They both breathed a sigh, leaning on each other. Thorin suddenly had an unexplainable feeling of warmth, beginning in his chest and spreading to his limbs. It felt... It felt good, holding his friend. Before he realized it, he had fallen asleep.

Bilbo woke up before sunrise. He was sitting in an unfamiliar place, but he was warm. He looked about, realizing with a start that he was sitting next to someone. His mind slowly brought up memories of the night before, and he realized that it was Thorin sleeping next to him. He moved just enough to look at his friend's face; seeing it like this was a very rare sight. Normally Thorin's face was set in a grim mask, befitting his intense nature. Now, however, the face was soft, very quiet and peaceful. Bilbo very slowly tried to disentangle himself. As he did so, however, the dwarf's grip tightened, holding him closer. "Bother," Bilbo muttered. How was he going to move away without waking him? Gently he wiggled a bit, but the dwarf's grip tightened even more. Bilbo could feel Thorin's face nestle in his hair, and feel him breathing in his ear. Once more he tried to move away from the embrace, but this time Thorin's other arm moved to hold him in. Bilbo gave up at that point, his body melting, allowing himself to be cuddled. Odd, he never thought of Thorin as a particularly cuddly person.

He tried closing his eyes again, but behind his eyelids he could see his nightmares again. The trolls were ready to roast them alive; the creature Gollum had gone mad and chased after him in the dark; the white warg chewed on Thorin while in the distance dragon's fire sprang up in the Shire, burning Hobbiton to ashes. He opened his eyes again, shuddering, suddenly very thankful he was sitting comfortably wrapped in someone's arms. Even if that someone was as confusing a character as Thorin.

Thorin took a little longer to rouse himself; his sleep was much deeper than usual. He was vaguely aware of something very close to him. His sluggish mind crawled to the conclusion that he was not where he had laid himself down the night before. He became attentive to the fact that he smelt something earthy. It was a smell that reminded him of home, of Erebor, in late autumn, when the leaves of the Elven Greenwood would turn red and gold. His face was buried in something very soft, almost like a pillow. Wherever he was, he had half a mind to just go back to sleep and not worry about where he was. The other half of his mind, however, nagged at him, told him he was forgetting something important, and made him open his eyes.

All at once he realized. He had been sitting with Bilbo the night before. He had laughed with Bilbo, that odd warm feeling had crept up, he had fallen asleep. Holding Bilbo. In his arms.

Half of his mind furiously screamed every curse in Dwarvish that he knew while he tried to think of a way out of this awkward situation before the others woke up. More importantly, he did not want to wake the hobbit- no one would ever have to know this had happened. Very slowly he released his grip.

"Oh, good, you're already awake," Bilbo murmured. Thorin let go altogether as the hobbit tried to stand. "Ouf, I feel like I've been broken and glued back together the wrong way!" Eventually he did make it to his feet, stretching his limbs as much as he could. "How are you holding up, then?"

"I was put together the right way," Thorin muttered as he stood. His shoulder told him otherwise, but he would be damned before he was caught rubbing at it.

"You're sure? Huh, you dwarves must be made of iron or something. Dislocating your shoulder and then swinging a sword around sounds like a good way to lose the arm altogether."

Thorin glanced archly at him. "You have been speaking with Bofur far too much. I'm afraid his humor has rubbed off on you."

Bilbo chuckled. "You're probably right there. He's a very likeable fellow, though, once you learn not to take his grim humor too seriously."

Something a lot like jealousy- but it was not jealousy at all, of course- tickled at Thorin, causing his face to twitch slightly. "You like him, then?"

Bilbo was taken aback. Thorin's tone had suddenly turned sour, and Bilbo realized the rest of this conversation would require extreme delicacy, and a quick change of the subject. "Well, I do. I like everyone here, the whole Company. Even Bifur, though I can't understand a word he says. The bigger question, I suppose, would be..." He stopped short. He knew the answer, why bother ask it now?

"Go on," Thorin urged.

"Well..." Bilbo fumbled for words, reaching in his pocket, pulling at his hair, while Thorin watched him with a steady, cool gaze. Bilbo did not quite like that look; it made him feel even shorter than he already was. "It's... Well, it's not all that important, I guess."

"It must be, else you would not have thought of it."

"I think the campfire's dying down, maybe I should get it going again." Bilbo moved past the dwarf towards the camp, thanking the dark for hiding his furiously blushing face.

Thorin sighed, reached out and grabbed the hobbit's arm, gently but firmly (Like shaking the hand of a friend, Bilbo found himself thinking). "It will be daylight soon enough, that will not be necessary." He glanced down at the fidgeting burglar. "Come now, no secrets. If we are to be a Company, those cannot exist."

Bilbo felt guilty for an instant, realizing that the ring he had found was a very big secret indeed. But then he caught on to Thorin's words, and felt much better. "You've already answered my question," he said simply.

"In what way?"

"You said, 'we are a Company'. That settles it quite nicely, don't you think?"

Thorin was, for once, completely at a loss for words. He suddenly realized what the question was. "Of course we..." But he stopped himself. Before Bilbo had saved his life, was he really liked by the rest of the Company? Fili and Kili saw him as an easy source of entertainment; Oin and Gloin more or less ignored him; Dwalin was often found shaking his head in disapproval; the hobbit's only real friends were Bofur and Balin, the former because it was impossible for Bofur to think of anyone as a real enemy and the latter out of pity more than anything else. Now, however, it had changed in one night with one act.

Thorin started again. "Yes. Yes, we are a Company, indeed."


	2. Chapter 2

The Company woke to find that the eagles had left them a gift; a large deer they had hunted and killed lay outside the camp. Eager for the fresh meat, the dwarves wasted no time skinning and preparing it. "Here, Bilbo!" Bofur called. "Ever skinned a deer before? 'S real easy, c'mon!" Bilbo blanched at the sight of the dead animal, and tried politely to refuse, but Bofur, who was a very kind soul, was also incredibly dense, sensing the hobbit's hesitancy as shyness rather than disgust. It was only Dori's interference that saved Bilbo from the nauseating task. The older dwarf unwrapped the bandage that he had done the night before to clean the goblin bite. "Ugh, Dori, I think ye messed up somewhere! Is it supposed to turn green?" Bofur exclaimed. Fili and Kili turned to look, grimacing when they saw it.

"I could do without the chatter, thank you Bofur," Dori scolded as he shooed them away, "and I'm sure he could, too!" Bilbo did his best to hold still as Dori drew out a knife and lanced the wound, draining it until it bled cleanly before bandaging it again.

Thorin, standing while Gandalf rewrapped his torso, made up his mind then. He announced that, while they could not stay at the eyrie for long, they could at least stay to rest and recover for another day. For a moment, Bilbo thought Thorin would forget all about teaching him to wield a sword, but that could not be farther from the truth- Dwalin was ordered to see to his next lesson, supervised by Thorin, while Bombur stoked the fire for breakfast. The sight of the small, meek hobbit facing off against the tall, grim-faced dwarf drew everyone's attention, and quite a few laughs. Balin, however, shook his head. "It's hardly fair, pitting him up against a war veteran of Dwalin's caliber. Why not one of the younger ones?" But his comments went unheeded. The dwarves all sat in a circle around the pair, forming a small arena.

"What do you mean, pitting me up against him?" Bilbo asked warily.

Balin gave him a hard, but not unkind, look. "We believe the best way to teach someone how to fight is to start fighting immediately."

That certainly explained Thorin's actions last night, but it hardly comforted him now. Bilbo swallowed, his mouth dry, and did his best not to run screaming. Of all the dwarves, Dwalin was the one he felt the most detached from; brooding and intimidating, the brawny warrior had spoken very little to him, and half the time he had hardly recognized that the hobbit was even there.

"Right then, laddie!" Dwalin shouted, drawing his sword. "Now, when ye grip a sword-"

"It should be like shaking the hand of a friend, neither too firm nor too soft," Bilbo finished softly, reciting Thorin's words from the previous night. He glanced to where Thorin was sitting, feeling a rush of pride as his friend smiled approvingly. He turned back just in time to block a swing from Dwalin.

"Good! Ye've learned somethin', now yer next lesson is to focus." A barrage of strikes followed. Desperately, Bilbo flung his sword here and there, wherever he saw Dwalin's blade coming; soon, however, his arms began to ache, his wounded shoulder began to burn, and he felt himself getting slower and slower. Just when he thought he was going to faint, his sparring partner stopped. "Yer afraid," the dwarf said.

"What- Well of course I'm afraid!" Bilbo sputtered. "I'd have to be insane not to be! You could cut me in half with one swing!"

Dwalin chuckled. "Not just of me. Yer afraid of pain, the pain that jumps up yer arms every time yer sword comes in contact with yer enemy's. The pain is going to come no matter what ye do. Don't be afraid of it, hate it!"

"Hate?"

"Aye, lad, be angry! That fear makes ye take a very defensive stance, but ye can't defend forever. Hate the bastard swingin' at ye and swing back at him! Strike at everything that's ever made ye afraid! Come on, now, _be angry!_ Like this!" Dwalin's lips curled back in a ferocious snarl as he threw his head back and roared aloud, the echoes reverberating around the mountainside and hanging in the air as a challenge.

He hardly felt he could stand up to the challenge, but, determined to try anyway, Bilbo did the same. He closed his eyes, tensed his shoulders, and screamed. Every nightmare that haunted his sleep, every fear he ever had, every frustration he felt, every ache and pain he suffered fueled his war cry. When he opened his eyes and gasped for air, he saw Dwalin smiling in astonishment. The other dwarves applauded from where they sat, and even Gandalf looked surprised.

"Good, lad! Wonderful!" Dwalin laughed. "How d'ye feel?"

Bilbo panted, "I feel... dizzy." He hardly meant for his yell to be so loud, but the effects were astounding. The blood rushed to his head, his pain was barely noticeable anymore, and, most importantly, he was no longer afraid.

He was prepared for the next onslaught from Dwalin, fending as well as he could. As they swung, Dwalin shouted different words of advice to him; "Don't lean forward, ye'll lose yer balance!", "Move yer feet!", "Don't step out from behind yer sword!" Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Dwalin halted.

Bilbo panted like a dog, distressed to find that Dwalin had hardly broken a sweat. "How'd I do?" he asked, wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

"Well, certainly not the worst I've ever seen. Ye have quick eyes and good reflexes, but no stamina. That'll change soon enough, a few more spars ought to put some muscle on yer bones. Give it time, we'll make a warrior outta ye yet, lad." Dwalin winked at him, thumped him on the back, then stalked off to breakfast with the other dwarves.

Bilbo sighed and straightened himself with a small groan before following. Things could have gone a lot worse, he supposed.

A voice behind him made him jump slightly. "You have earned his respect." It was Thorin.

"You think so? I'm still not sure he's forgiven me for the whole 'skin the dwarves first' debacle with the trolls."

Thorin smiled. "If he hadn't before, he certainly has now. His interest in training you has shown that."

"I don't suppose you have any tips? To help me do better next time?"

Thorin pondered this while they sat. Finally, he said, "Relax, balance yourself, keep your elbows in, and," he leaned closer to murmur in the hobbit's ear, "you're much smaller than most opponents you'll ever face, and certainly a lot smaller than Dwalin, so use your speed and your size to your advantage and get in closer to strike."

Bilbo blinked. "You want me to get closer? To... To that?" he stammered incredulously.

"You asked for my advice, now you have it." Thorin chuckled softly as the hobbit cast a very apprehensive look at Dwalin. Suddenly Thorin realized, Bilbo's hand was in his pocket again. This was becoming rather annoying. There was something in that pocket, something that Bilbo obviously found comfort in, and he could not even begin guess what it was. "Would whatever you have in your pocket help you in battle?" he asked.

Bilbo twitched slightly, obviously caught off guard. He recovered marvelously. "I take it you want to guess again?" he asked, that mischievous glint in his eyes again.

Thorin's eyes narrowed. "It would be far easier if you told me."

Bilbo grinned broadly. "Easier, yes, but not nearly as entertaining." Yes, it would be easier, but somehow he did not feel that now was the right time to tell anyone about it.

As he watched the hobbit smiling there, Thorin would deny any change in his feelings. His heart did not just skip a beat. His hands did not feel clammy at all. He learned that this hobbit was disarming, now he needed to learn to focus. He glanced away and huffed to clear his thoughts. "You find me entertaining." Perhaps not the best thing he could have said, but it was the first thing out of his mouth.

"Not you, no," Bilbo said quickly, "I mean, the whole guessing game."

"Has anyone else tried to guess?"

Bilbo hesitated. "Well, no. You're the only one I've allowed to guess, actually."

Why did that fill Thorin with a sense of pride? Why did he suddenly have the urge to wrap his arm around his friend's shoulders? He shook it off and guessed. "Would it be one of those buttons you lost from your waistcoat?" A silly guess; a button was not a very worthy secret.

Bilbo glanced down. "No, it's not one of those. If it were, I'd have sewn it back on by now." He held up three fingers and pulled one down. "Two more."

They were interrupted for a moment when they were handed bowls of venison stew. "One of Bombur's spoons?" Thorin tried again.

"He'd have me flogged if I dared to steal one of those!" the hobbit said through a mouthful of stew. "One more guess, if you can."

"How do I know there is anything in your pocket at all? You could be trying to trick me," Thorin grumbled.

"Because the Gollum guessed nothing and was wrong." Bilbo looked up at him, brown eyes full of innocence. "You don't have to guess, you know."

"Will you tell me, then?"

"Perhaps one day."


End file.
